I looked at Forrester.
He cleared his throat. "Well, maybe tomorrow, Mrs. Hughes." He paused for a long moment and then asked, "You drove over here?"
She nodded and then frowned. "Why?"
He put on his hat and said, "Would you mind staying inside the house with Mr. Williams and Mr. Jones for a few minutes?"
She crossed her arms and looked at me. "What is he going on about?"
I said, "I don't know but interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty is a felony."
While she shook her head at me, Forrester slipped out behind her. "Why are you always quotin' laws at me, Mr. Williams?"
I shrugged. "Because I don't want you to go to jail."
She frowned and asked, "What do you mean by that?" Then, looking up at Carter, she asked, "What does he mean by that?" As soon as she spoke, her eyes widened and she began to step backwards.
Since she'd been in the room, I'd been facing her and the doorway to the living room. Carter had been behind me. When I first heard her voice from the front door, it briefly occurred to me that it might not be a good idea for Carter to be in the same room with her. Apparently, I was right.
As I turned to look at what was making her step backwards, I saw Carter slowly walking towards her. His eyes were ablaze with fury. He was rubbing his jaw. That was his tell when he was going to slug someone. No matter what she'd done, or how complicit she'd been, Carter had no right and no business hitting her. Besides, I knew how much he would hate himself later.
As he walked by me, I put my hand on his arm and barked out his name. "Carter!"
He stopped and looked down at me. A wave of regret and contrition washed over his face. I nodded and said, "It's OK. Let Forrester handle everything." I reached up and kissed him on the lips.
At that, Mrs. Hughes hissed at us. "You two disgust me." Her face was almost purple with rage. "I wish you were both gone and that I'd never laid eyes on either of you. Have you no shame? Have you no sense of shame at how disgusting it is to see you behave that way?"
I kept hold of Carter and calmly said, "Leave this house right now and do not ever come back."
She pulled her pocketbook to her body and nodded. "Fine," she replied as she turned to leave. She stopped at the door and turned back. "This is not your house, you know. I will call Mrs. Williams and let her know how rude you've both been. I can't imagine she will be happy about that."
Carter, who stood perfectly still, said, "Call her, if you dare, Mrs. Hughes. The governor, himself, is scared of that woman. I'd be mighty cautious, if I were you."
Mrs. Hughes harrumphed, turned on her heel, and was gone.
We both stood there. Neither of us moved for a long moment. Finally, I looked up at Carter and was going to say something to him but, as he looked down at me, I saw a look in his eye that caught my attention. I walked over, through all the mess on the floor, to the kitchen table and grabbed a chair. I hauled it over to where he was standing and then stood up on the seat. Looking down at him, I pulled him in close to my chest and ran my hands through his hair. "Oh my God, Carter, I love you so much right now."
He pulled back and looked up at me. "I love you too, Nick."
I ran my hand over his eyebrows and along the bridge of his nose. As I did, I heard a knock on the door. I kissed him quickly on the lips and then jumped down off the chair.
"Mr. Williams? Mr. Jones?" It was Hollister. "Can you come out here?"
I sighed and led the way as Carter followed. Once we were outside on the stone porch, I could see that Forrester was standing in front of the Hughes's truck. He was examining a couple of big dents in the grill. Mrs. Hughes was standing next to him, frozen. The fog was just as thick as ever and the wind seemed to be picking up.
"And you don't know how this happened?"
She shook her head but didn't say anything.
Forrester looked up and motioned me over. "Mr. Williams, could you take a look at this paint, right here?"
Keeping my distance from Mrs. Hughes, I craned my neck over. There were several streaks of the Sunbeam blue.
"Does that look like paint from your car?"
I nodded. "It does."
Mrs. Hughes started crying, loudly.
No one said anything until, finally, Forrester said, "We're waiting for two more deputies and then we'll be going over to arrest your husband. I'm afraid you're going to be charged as an accomplice, Roberta, unless you'd like to help us out and tell us what happened."
She looked up at me and then over at Carter. Her face was a contorted mess of tears and anguish. She shook her head. "I'll never give up on Frank Hughes. Never."
Forrester reached out and touched her shoulder. She angrily jumped back and said, "Don't you touch me, Ron Forrester. I know all about you, too." Looking at me, she said, "You're just like them. You said you loved Annie but Mr O'Bannion told us about how you really were and he was so relieved, just like we were, when she died before you could get your filthy hands on her."
I looked at Forrester. He was dazed, watching her, unblinking.
"What I never understood was why he didn't just go to Salinas and tell the Sheriff about you. All about you. All about you and your little trips to Palo Alto and your friend up there. Frank tried to convince him but he never would. Oh, we knew. We knew all about you!" Her voice was getting higher and shriller, the spittle flying from her mouth.
"How dare you ask me to say a word against Frank Hughes!" She put her hand on her chest and breathed in deeply. "He saved my life, and I love him, and I'll never do anything to hurt him." She glanced around at the four us, her expression wild as a hunted animal. "None of you know. None of you have the dignity to know what real love means. It means scrimping and saving and holding on to the very end. It means getting through all the bad times and the good times. It means taking care of a man when he's sick and holding his hand when he's in despair." Her voice was getting calmer and steadier. She seemed to be calming down.
"Well, if you're gonna take Frank Hughes down, you'll have to do it without me." Defiantly, she looked at Hollister and then at Forrester. We all stood there, no one speaking, as the wind picked up a little more, bringing with it the sound of the surf. As I watched her, I saw her eyes widen, as if she'd had a sudden realization. She darted her eyes around, obviously calculating something in her mind.
Before any of us could react, she grabbed hold of her pocketbook and ran off towards the side of the house. Carter took off after her, followed by Forrester and Hollister. I brought up the rear.
As we came around the corner of the house, I could see her running directly towards the cliff. Carter leaped forward, trying to grab her legs. He missed and came down hard on the grass, sliding towards the edge.
Right then, she looked back at me, right at me, one last time, and then took a running leap off the side, clutching her pocketbook to her chest as if she expected to make it to the rocks below.
As she fell, we could hear her screaming for a long moment, and then her voice suddenly stopped, only to be replaced by the sound of the wind and the surf below.
Chapter 16
Hide-A-Way Motel
Highway 1
Carmel-by-the-Sea, Cal.
Monday, November 14, 1955
A quarter before 7 in the evening
"Well, sir, I'd say the best steak in the county is at the Pebble Beach Club. But you have to be a member to be admitted to the dining room. Or that's what I've heard." That was Mrs. O'Keefe.
Carter was back in the room, still asleep. After we got back to the room, we'd both spent a few heated minutes going at it before he'd collapsed in exhaustion. I was still feeling very matter-of-fact about everything. Except for Mrs. Hughes. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see her looking right at me as she went over the cliff. I'd decided it would be easier to not close my eyes. So, I'd read more of Marjorie Morningstar to pass the time. Deputy Griffith had found it in the floorboard and brought it up with the valises and my left shoe. I
had begun to warm up to the story when my stomach started to grumble. I'd decided to head to the front desk and ask Mrs. O'Keefe about where to find a good steak.
I nodded. "Is there anywhere else?"
She thought for a moment. "That Mexican place, La Fonda, in Monterey. But I think they're closed on Mondays."
I sighed. "I think my father is a member of the Pebble Beach Club. Do you think they'll let me in?"
"Heck if I know, Mr. Williams. That's a little too-too for folks like me."
I grinned. "Their loss."
She smiled and said, "If you don't mind me speakin' out of turn, why don't you just walk up and buy a membership?"
I shrugged. "I doubt they'd want me as a member."
With a warm smile, she replied, "That's their loss, then."
. . .
"Chief." I was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. I ran my hand under his chin and then down his hairy chest. He was stretched out in just his BVDs and I didn't really want to wake him up as much as I wanted to sit there and gaze at his long legs and muscled torso.
Stirring, he opened his eyes and grinned. "Hey there, Boss."
I leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips. "Hungry?"
He pulled me onto the bed, on top of him, and said, "Yes, but it can wait a minute or two."
. . .
As we drove the truck up Highway 1 into Monterey, I asked, "How was your nap?"
Grinning at me, Carter said, "Good. How was yours?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I read more of your book."
"How is it?"
"I'm still trying to figure out why you said it made you happy to be a homosexual."
"It's in the final chapter. I'll leave it at that."
I nodded and watched as he made a left, following the sign that pointed towards the ocean.
"Speaking of my books, is this the year that you're finally going to give me the Christmas present that I have been waiting two years to get?" He was talking about a trilogy of books called The Lord of the Rings. He'd read an earlier book that was all about some dwarves and a big dragon in a cave filled with gold and jewels. In the summer of '53, he'd told me that a much longer story, in three parts, was going to be published by the same author. I'd made him promise not to buy them until I could get all three books for him. I'd put Marnie on the job and she'd found a private investigator in Cambridge, England, where the author lived. The P.I. had bought the trilogy after the final book had been published over there a few weeks earlier. The P.I. had gone to see the author to ask for his autograph on each of the books. The professor, as the P.I. called the author, had grudgingly agreed to sign them. The P.I. had then taken the train to London and put them on a B.O.A.C. plane. They'd been delivered in San Francisco the week before, on Friday, November 4th. They were safely stowed away in the back of the bureau in Gustav and Ferdinand's room in the basement of our house.
I laughed. "I can neither confirm nor deny."
"You know you're gonna be in a world of hurt if they're not under that tree come Christmas morning. It's all I've been able to do to keep from buying them. When I bought that Herman Wouk book, I saw the first two books. I almost picked one of them up just to look inside."
"You do that, fireman, and you won't live to see Christmas Day. I promise you that Santa is gonna bring you all three of them this year. Greedy boys sometimes have to wait."
Carter snorted and looked over at me, his emerald green eyes shining by the light of the dashboard.
I got that warm feeling I always got when he looked at me like that.
. . .
"I'm sorry, you can't just walk in here and buy a membership. New members must be sponsored." That was the thin blond man who'd been summoned by the hostess to deal with us.
"What if I call my father?"
"I understand that Dr. Williams is a member. And, if he were with you, you both would be welcome into the dining room. However, as he isn't, I'm afraid it's against the club rules."
Carter put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Let's go someplace else."
Right then a handsome man in his fifties walked up. He was dressed impeccably and had thinning light brown hair that was combed back and held in place. He grinned at me and said, "You must be Nick Williams."
I nodded and said, "That's me."
Extending his hand, the man said, "I'm Sam Morse. How's your old man?"
I grinned as we shook and replied, "He's fine and you must know him pretty well to say that about him."
He laughed. "Hell, yes, he's the most pompous ass on the West Coast and that's saying a lot. But, I love the guy." He looked from me to Carter and said, "You must be Carter Jones."
They both shook as Carter replied, "Yes, sir. Nice to meet you Mr. Morse."
"Call me Sam, son. Nice to meet you both. Now, what goes on here?"
The other man cleared his throat and said, "These two gentlemen are not members and—"
"Not members? What's that, son?" He winked at me. "Don't you like a little golf, from time to time? Or are you too busy chasing down the bad guys?"
I laughed. "I'd be happy to join."
Clapping the other man on the back, Mr. Morse said, "Sign 'em up, Bill. Use me as a reference, of course." Looking at me, he asked, "You bring your checkbook?"
I pulled out my wallet and asked, "How about Diners' Club?"
Morse laughed. "You bet. You get all that arranged with Bill, here. Meanwhile, I'm gonna call my wife, Maurine. She'll be tickled pink that Parnell's son is here. And I'll get us a table. Best steaks south of San Francisco."
I nodded and looked up at Carter. "That's why we're here."
. . .
"So, how is Parnell these days?" That was Mr. Morse.
"He's fine." I really had no idea how my father was. We never talked like that. We lived our lives across Huntington Park from each other and, from time to time, saw each other over dinner.
Carter added, "He's moving out of lumber and into steel."
Morse nodded and had a sip of his bourbon. "Good man." Looking at me, he said, "Looks like you and Ike both survived his heart attack. I read an article in one of the City papers that you bought a Comet? Is that true?" He was talking about the jet airplane that had been cracking up in mid-flight. I'd bought one in Ireland a few months earlier.
I nodded. "Yeah. It seemed like a good investment."
"You're not afraid the thing will explode?"
I shook my head. "They've got that problem solved and they're putting the fix on the windows. That's where the problem was. They're just about done."
He shook his head. "Well, son, if I could, I'd pick one up myself. It would be nice to take a jet airplane down to South America overnight." He grinned at me.
I nodded with a smile and started to say something about Rio when a tall man walked up to the table. He stuck out his hand. "How are ya, Sam?"
Morse stood up and shook the man's hand as Carter quietly groaned. I couldn't blame him. "Better question: how are you, Duke?"
John Wayne laughed and then looked down at Mrs. Morse. "And, Maurine, always good to see you. How are you?"
She smiled and nodded. "Just fine. How are Pilar and the boys?"
"The kids are doing great and Pilar is just fine. She's running a little late for dinner so I'm getting started at the bar." With a smile, he looked down at us. His smile faded as he recognized me.
Morse said, "Do you know Nick Williams?"
Mr. Wayne shook his head and said, "Haven't had the pleasure."
"And this is Carter Jones."
The two locked eyes but neither spoke. After a moment, Mr. Wayne gave Morse a mock salute and said, "Well, I'd better let you get back to your dinner. Always good to see you. We're heading back to L.A. tomorrow. I've got re-shoots on a film we did this summer up in Utah." He smiled and said, "Maurine." With that, he stalked away.
Morse acted as if nothing unusual had happened. He looked at me and said, "Our steaks will be here in a minute." To his wife, he
said, "Will you excuse me, dear? I want to go say hello to Bing. I see he just walked in."
She nodded with a smile and said, "Of course."
As soon as he was gone, she turned and looked at Carter with a grin. "Not a fan?"
He said, "We've met Mr. Wayne before. We weren't introduced."
"Was that down in Newport Beach in 1953?"
We both nodded.
She sighed and shook the ice in her drink. "He remembers you. He came up here telling Sam all about it and how you both were walking around like a pair of roosters." She laughed. "Sam can sell ice to Eskimos and, in his eyes, everyone's a friend. So, he wasn't ignoring what just happened. He didn't see it." She took a sip of her drink. "After I married him, it took me a while to understand that." Looking at me, she said, "But there are some people he prizes over others and your father is one of them. I've never heard the story. A few months ago, when your parents were down here, I asked Lettie if she knew and she didn't."
I sat back in my chair, surprised. "If she didn't know, that must mean he's not telling anyone. She can get blood out of turnips."
Mrs. Morse laughed. "I believe you're right."
. . .
We had been at work at our steaks for about five minutes, when I looked up at Mr. Morse and said, "For dinner last night, we went to La Fonda in Monterey."
Morse swallowed his bite and smiled. "How was Tito?"
"Good. Best Mexican food I've ever had. He said you were the reason he moved down here from the City."
Taking a sip of bourbon with a satisfied sigh, Morse said, "His cookin' was just too good. I had to have him down here."
Out of nowhere, Carter said, "He made Nick a margarita. Ever had one?" He looked down at his steak, which he was happily sawing.
Morse nodded. "Only one at a time, son. One at a time. He makes them himself and they're strong."
I grinned. "Yeah, they sure are. You ever meet Ron Forrester?"
Morse frowned for a moment. "Can't say I have. He live around here?"
The Rotten Rancher (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 16) Page 15